When Nations Fall
by guiltipanda
Summary: What happens to all of them when they stop being nations? Does anyone really know? Romano doesn't, but over a hundred years after the complete unification of the Kingdom of Italy, he realizes something: He's dying. [No pairings. Rated T for language and character death.]


**A/N: This idea came from me asking myself what really happens to the nation personifications when their nation falls or gets dissolved. A popular theory seems to be that they simply vanish, which seems supported by the way Germany talks about the Roman Empire disappearing. (Though, he's still sort of around...I'm honestly not too clear on that.) But then there are moments when characters are on their deathbed and they just appear to die normally. (Admittedly, they never actually die, so I don't know...) Anyway, since it's not explicitly stated, I wondered if maybe it was possible that some nations don't even know what happens when they die. And so, here's a little something I wrote with that in mind.**

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Romano watched the blood trickling from the shallow wound on his hand. It was sort of fascinating. He didn't normally cut himself when he was trying to cook, but somehow the knife had slipped. He thought he was bleeding too much for such an insignificant injury. The food was tainted now. He should probably clean everything up, but he just stood there, looking down at his hand.

He'd felt different lately. Physically, mentally. He often felt dazed, like he was stumbling through a never-ending fog. He'd thought that he needed more sleep, but that wasn't it. In his attempts to get more rest, he usually ended up lying awake and staring at the ceiling despondently, unsettled by the relentless notion that he was wasting his life away and should do something productive, but not being able to will his body into action. He'd thought he was depressed. It was entirely possible, but he later realized that depression was only a side effect of the root cause. He knew what this was. He wondered why it had taken so long.

He didn't want to tell anyone. The only people he even considered telling were Veneziano and Spain, but he didn't want them to cry around him and treat him like he was made of glass any more than they already did. Romano had expected this for a long time, but he only just started thinking deeply about what it meant to be the personification of a nation who was not really his own nation, but rather the unnecessary half of a unified nation, who now seemed to be dying. He didn't know how long it would take. He didn't know if it would hurt. He suspected that it might. How would it happen? Would his body collapse on itself, or would he simply vanish without a trace? Neither one of those seemed terribly appealing. He didn't want to suffer through it, but he would prefer that his body remain behind so that others would know what had happened to him once he was gone. Well...he supposed they'd eventually figure it out.

They started noticing that something was wrong. Romano had hoped to hide it for as long as he could, but he wasn't very good at concealing his emotions when something was seriously troubling him. They went out for dinner, the three of them. Romano wasn't enjoying himself to begin with. So many boisterous people surrounding him made him feel like he was shrinking into a hole somewhere inside his chest. His brother was the first to ask if something was wrong, because Romano wasn't eating. He tried to force the food down, but he couldn't shake the nausea that surged with every spoonful. Romano insisted he was fine. Spain said that he'd been wondering about the vague, distracted expression Romano had been wearing all day. Romano told him it was nothing and that he should stop asking about it. He tried to sound annoyed so that they wouldn't doubt that he was perfectly okay, but his words came out with a shaky sigh. He had their full attention now, and he cracked from the pressure of their concerned gazes.

He didn't really want to push them away or shut them out. He wanted them to care. He needed _someone_ to care. Spain and Veneziano grew more and more frantic with every sob that broke from his tightening throat. "I'm not okay..."

Veneziano tried to be strong for his big brother, but he didn't know how. Romano knew that he was terrified of the subject of death because of the trauma he'd experienced while he was still young—Grandpa and Holy Rome. He hated that he had to cause Veneziano more pain, but it wasn't like he had any choice in the matter. The only thing he could do was make his best effort to not remind Veneziano of what was happening. So, what little strength he had was focused on masking just how much he was slipping day by day. It worked. Veneziano didn't cry so much, he treated Romano normally most of the time. Either Romano was a better actor than he thought, or his brother was in denial. Sometimes it got to the point where Veneziano seemed to literally forget that his brother was not alright, like when he asked Romano one day if he would accompany him to a world meeting.

Romano stared at him blankly. "I can't."

"Why not?"

He couldn't cover up how much that hurt. When Veneziano realized his error, he apologized profusely, hugged Romano too tightly, and soaked both of their shirts with his tears.

Romano ended up going to the meeting to make his brother feel better, even though he wasn't technically allowed to attend. Veneziano was officially Italy now, and Romano wasn't a part of it and didn't belong. He wasn't dead yet; he wasn't anything, really. Just some transitory being floating around without a purpose, waiting for the inevitable. He was kicked out of the meeting by Germany before he even set foot into the room.

"Do you think I'm going to go spreading all your national secrets?" he mocked. As if they ever discussed anything important at these stupid meetings.

Germany put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I think you should go home and get some rest."

He felt like telling the bastard to keep his damn opinions to himself. Romano didn't want to get some rest. He didn't want to waste however long he had left alone doing fucking nothing. Then again, he didn't actually want to spend his time in some boring world meeting, either. Romano remained in the building and roamed sluggishly around the halls, trying to find something to occupy his mind with so that he didn't have to think about how everyone he knew in the world was in the other room and didn't want him to be among them. That was the most painful thing in all of this. Everyone was afraid of their own demise, and that's all anyone saw now when they looked at him.

That's what he was; not the personification of Southern Italy. He was a walking shadow, a looming reminder. He was Oblivion Incarnate.

He heard what was around the corner in the entrance hall before he saw it. The sounds of electronic beeping and adventure music from some handheld video game, then the sight of Prussia lounging on a couch. It had been a long time since Romano had seen or talked to Germany's older brother and he was surprised to find him out here. He didn't normally come to world meetings, at least not to Romano's knowledge. Maybe he'd just always hung out outside the conference room and Romano had never noticed him.

Seeing as he was feeling more than usually lonely and desperate, that Prussia was the only one he'd seen since being barred from the meeting, and that he had very little energy left from aimless wandering, Romano took the armchair across from where Prussia was lying on his back. He didn't have anything particular that he wanted to say to the ex-nation. He didn't even really want to talk to him at all, but even sitting with Prussia was better than being alone. Romano tried to relax into the chair, but he hadn't known a comfortable position for weeks now. Pain, dull and oppressive, had become his constant. He stared across the hall at Prussia, who was intently focused on whatever game he was playing and appeared to be oblivious to his presence. Till he spoke, unexpectedly, without even looking up. "Never considered you to be a rebel."

"What?" Romano asked.

"Skipping out on meetings. Or did you get kicked out? Either way, welcome!" He made a grand gesture to display the _marvelous_ entrance hall, complete with shabby carpeting, gloomy paintings, and the drab furniture on which the two of them sat. "This is where all the cool kids hang out."

"All?" Romano questioned, surveying their desolate surroundings.

"Mostly just the awesome me," he admitted, unashamed.

"Is this where Germany told you to go so you wouldn't be a distraction?"

"Hey, look who's talking!"

Romano was reluctant to tell Prussia the real reason he wasn't in the meeting, but there was a certain cruel part of him that wanted to see his reaction. "I guess you haven't heard."

That was the first time since Romano had gotten there that Prussia actually took the time to look at him directly. He went a whole shade whiter, which—given his natural complexion—was impressive. Romano had to admit, even he didn't recognize himself anymore when he happened to look in a mirror, which he regularly avoided doing now. He had lost color. Not just in his face, but everywhere. His hair was practically gray, his eyes were glassy and pale. He was skinnier than he'd ever been, because he could hardly eat. He looked and felt incredibly small and faded.

Prussia turned his game off and laid it down beside him on the couch cushion, waiting for Romano to explain his appearance. Since he'd found out, Romano had gradually lost much of his social reservations, so he spoke more plainly than he'd ever dared to before. "I'm dying."

The blond hesitated, choosing his words thoughtfully. "How do you know?"

That almost made Romano laugh. He was seeing him, right? "I'm pretty confident that I can tell when my body is functioning normally and when it isn't."

"Maybe you're just sick."

Romano shook his head. There was nothing wrong with his half of the country that would make him feel like this, not any more than there ever was. He'd gotten used to the rampant crime and defective economy some time ago, and it had never made him feel like this. He knew. This wasn't any force like that, and this wasn't something he was going to recover from. "Italy has been unified for almost a hundred years. The north and the south still have major differences, but not any more than, say, England or America's northern and southern regions do. Everyone's come to accept that we're one country now, so..."

Prussia gave a slight nod at Romano's words. It's what everyone did whenever Romano talked about these things, so they could acknowledge that they'd heard him without being required to engage in anything upsetting. However, Prussia looked like he was seriously reflecting on what Romano had said. Romano started to wonder if maybe, in a limited way, he understood. Did Prussia ever think about his own death? Romano imagined he did, being in a position somewhat similar to Romano. Minus the actuality of it staring you in the face bit.

He must think about his own death a lot, because the next thing that came out of his mouth, slow and pensive, was, "I think...so long as Ostalgie exists, I exist." Suddenly, Romano was very interested in conversation. He asked if Prussia was afraid of death. "Nah. I'm not afraid of anything," he said with confidence. He's demeanor softened as he looked over the faint, withered Italian. "Are you?"

"I don't know." Romano had seen this coming back in the 19th century and was long since numb to the fear. He certainly wasn't looking forward to not existing, but he couldn't torture himself with something he had no control over anymore.

For a while, neither of them knew what to say. Their eyes fell to the floor. Romano curled and uncurled his fingers against the armchair to feel preoccupied and less flustered. The polyester itched against his skin. Prussia gave an uncertain laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, this is awkward. Sorry, I just...wasn't expecting any of this."

Romano made no judgement. No one could really be prepared for this kind of conversation, he knew that. This was an uncomfortable topic, and he hadn't presumed that Prussia, of all people, would be very good at discussing it. If their situations were reversed, Romano wouldn't have been any better. In fact, he probably would have been much worse.

It was actually quite something, Romano thought, that their situations weren't reversed. "Is it mean to say that I kind of always thought you'd die before me?"

He'd never seen the nation look so horrified. "That's _super_ mean!"

Romano apologized halfheartedly. He wasn't sorry for thinking that way, or for saying it out loud, but he was afraid that Prussia would get mad and leave. Then again, he was dying, so if Prussia just stormed off and left him alone that would put Prussia in the wrong. He only crossed his arms over his chest with a huff and glared, which didn't disconcert Romano.

"Dying has made you really morbid."

It had also made Romano increasingly sarcastic. "I hear it tends to do that."

Prussia was ready to retaliate, but he stopped himself. He adjusted his position on the couch to lie on his side and study Romano more thoroughly, with deepening consternation. "What does it feel like?"

Romano closed his eyes and thought hard about the best way to describe it. "It feels...a little like...I'm imploding. In slow motion." Prussia's frown was half sympathetic and half bewildered. Romano knew it didn't make sense to anyone but him. He wasn't asking anyone to understand how he felt. But now he had a question for Prussia, because it had been gnawing at him ever since this all started. "Do you know what happens when we die?"

Prussia raised an eyebrow. "What, you mean like heaven and stuff?"

"No," he said before reconsidering. "Actually...I don't know. Do we go to heaven?" God, he'd been told, was a merciful guy. And he supposedly created everything. Did that include nations? If it did, that meant nations should go to heaven, right? Being Catholic for so long, Romano had fucking better get something out of it. Although, did nations really have their own souls? Because he'd also been taught that animals couldn't go to heaven because God didn't give them souls, which was kind of a dick move for a loving God, if you asked Romano.

"There's no such thing as heaven."

Romano scoffed. "Now who's being morbid."

He shrugged. "I lost my faith a long time ago."

"Well, I'm still Catholic, so I say there's a heaven." Though, even if there was a heaven and Romano did have a soul, he still wasn't sure he'd get in.

"Whatever," Prussia grumbled. "As far as how the process goes, I don't know."

Romano couldn't believe that. Prussia was older than him, and the entire purpose for which he'd been created was to fight and destroy. He couldn't possibly have escaped the reality of that life for so long. Maybe he hadn't seen it in battle, but _somewhere_. Prussia had to know. "You've really never seen it happen?"

"I never stayed around for the deaths."

So, that was it. Even the mighty Prussia was not immune to the most basic of biological instincts. "You _are_ afraid."

" _Pfft_."

He could give him that condescending look all night, he would never convince Romano otherwise now. He didn't think any less of Prussia for it, so he wasn't sure what he was trying to prove by denying that he was afraid of dying. "Would you be able to watch me die?" Romano asked, earning a wary look from the nation. "If you keep saying you're not afraid, I'll make you watch."

Now, Prussia was disturbed. He narrowed his fiery red eyes and said, "That's not funny."

A wave of fatigue hit Romano and he sunk further into the chair. He'd sat in place for so long that it was like he was bound to the cushions. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand up on his own. "I'm not trying to be funny, I'm proving a point," he struggled to say. "And then you can go tell everyone what happens when nations fall."

"I'm not going to be there when you die."

"'Cause you're afraid."

"I'm _not._ " He was getting really annoyed now. "But that doesn't mean I want to watch you die, you lunatic."

That was disappointing. Romano wanted someone to be there when he died. Veneziano wouldn't be able to handle it, and Romano had his doubts about Spain, too. Even if it had to be one of the Potato Bastards, he didn't really care. He thought about asking straightforwardly and explaining his rationale, but there didn't seem to be a point anymore. Prussia was tired of listening to him, and the meeting was over. All those who had gathered together were now dispersing, and Prussia was heading over to his brother. Romano tentatively pushed on the arms of the chair to try to get up, but he was too weak. He leaned back and hoped no one had noticed his defeat. He watched all the other nations pass by him, avoiding eye contact. They didn't even have any kind words to offer him. Romano didn't care. Words were paltry things.

Veneziano came up to him and told him that they should get going. Romano didn't want to let him know that he couldn't, so he told him to go on without him. He wanted to sit for a little while longer, he said, and then he would go back alone, back to his home in Naples. Home was as good a place as any to be when it happened. His brother disliked the idea and started to plead with him, till Romano snapped. Veneziano never liked to be snapped at, it always upset him, so it was the surest way that Romano knew to get him to leave him alone. It worked. Veneziano left after everyone else, and Romano was alone.

Romano couldn't bear those few minutes he spent in silence in that dark, dreary hall. Honestly, it was like someone had designed that space with the color scheme of mud in mind. If the intent was to create a serious atmosphere to prepare those who entered the foyer for meetings, it had only ever failed. All it accomplished now was to mock Romano's condition, and for that reason he hated it. He had to get out of there.

His battle with gravity was short and futile, he was stuck. He had his cell phone with him, though. Veneziano couldn't have gotten that far, he could call him. Or Spain. Or whoever. Dignity didn't matter at this point. Not when Romano was already this close to crumbling. As he was trying to fish his phone out of his pocket, a pain like a hammer striking his chest made him lurch forward. He landed hard on the thinly carpeted floor and the air was knocked out of his lungs. _Oh, God._ It was happening. He was dying. He _was_ afraid. And he was alone.

That was the only thing that Romano had really wanted, was to not be alone when it happened. He didn't care about not existing. He didn't care about the pain. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn't lift himself up off the floor, he couldn't move at all, and no one was there to help him. They'd all left him without even a thought, when he wasn't even supposed to be in this fucking place to begin with. This wasn't how he'd wanted it.

Romano couldn't stop the tears from flowing. _Dammit._ He hadn't wanted to die crying, either.

As his vision grew dark, it dawned on him how stupid this was. Death had always seemed like this hulking monster that overpowers everyone in the end, but it wasn't. And it wasn't the end of a story or some bullshit like that, because life wasn't a fucking story. It was just as pointless as death. Life was given to those who'd never asked for it, was often too short, sometimes too long, full of failure and heartache that never amounted to anything. Then it was taken away, and the world went on and forgot. Romano had always cared too much while aspiring to a guise of callousness, but with all these thoughts in his head he simply stopped caring.

He heard the clatter of a heavy door opening, telling him that someone had come back. It didn't make a difference who it was, but Romano wanted to know all the same. He couldn't turn his head and look, only when he was kneeling down beside him did Romano see the glowing white face and platinum blond hair. It would have looked angelic if it wasn't for the red eyes, so filled with panic. Romano thought it was kind of poetic that Prussia was the one to find him—poetic in the most meaningless way. At least Prussia had the opportunity to learn what happened when it was all over. He would know what to expect.

Romano knew someone else came back into the hall when he heard the horror-filled cry. It sounded muffled to his ears. All his senses were fading, but he still recognized that scream as Veneziano's. Romano didn't see his little brother's face. He imagined that Veneziano had frozen firmly in place upon seeing Romano on the floor and couldn't make himself close the distance between them. Spain and Germany came into view behind Prussia, hazily. Spain was trying to tell Romano something, but Romano could no longer hear him.

Romano wasn't aware of what happened to his body when he died. He might have dissolved in a majestic beam of white light for all he knew. That question was never answered for him. However, four nations had been beside him when he'd passed. He couldn't tell them how much that had meant to him, but who knew. Maybe witnessing his death would help them in some way. Maybe it would be closure for Veneziano, because Romano didn't simply disappear like Grandpa and Holy Rome. Maybe knowing what happened to nations would comfort Prussia so he didn't have to be afraid. Or maybe not. Romano was reluctant to hope in his last moments. It was a nice thought to end on, though.

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 **Prumano fans are free to read into this, but this wasn't written to be romantic in any way. If you want actual Prumano stuff, you can read the other Hetalia story found on my profile. (Shameless plug.)**

 **Thank you all for reading! This is different from what I normally write, so I would love to hear your opinions on this.**


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